


Hunter/Hunted

by ElvenSemi



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Don’t copy to another site, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Medicinal Drug Use, Rahne's suspicions about the questionable morality of men who live in vans are Absolutely Confirmed, Shapeshifting, To be continued...?, it's the crack pairing no one asked for except the one guy who did
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-07
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-12 07:25:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18006428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElvenSemi/pseuds/ElvenSemi
Summary: Rahne Sinclair, aka Wolfsbane, the woman who turns into a wolf, has already been seriously injured when Kraven the Hunter begins tracking her. What follows is less of the challenging hunt he'd been hoping for, and more of a test as to whether his legendary animal taming skills will be even remotely helpful when dealing with a pissed off ex-Catholic with as many issues as she has fangs.





	Hunter/Hunted

**Author's Note:**

> An indeterminate amount of time ago, I had an idea for a weird crack ship. A less indeterminate amount of time ago, someone with money and the will to make it happen decided that they were at least getting the first chapter out of me. And it has a cheesy title, because of course it does, do I look like the sort of person who comes up with good titles?

She was being hunted. 

This was hardly a new sensation, but it wasn't necessarily something that Rahne enjoyed under any circumstances. And these were… really bad circumstances. Just, wow. Super bad. 

She didn't know who was on her trail, but she knew she was leaving one. It was kind of hard not to, with a broken leg, Lord only knew how many broken ribs, and more cuts and gashes slowly dripping blood than she knew what to do with. 

This was Sabretooth’s fault--which most things were, according to Logan. But it was also at least twenty percent Logan’s fault, if she wasn't feeling particularly generous… and right now, she was not. He was off somewhere, probably still dealing with Sabretooth. The two of them had managed to take Sabretooth down a few weeks prior, and he’d come back for revenge after everyone but herself and Logan had already headed home. She had… not been as lucky the second time around. Hence: lost in the Canadian wilderness, bleeding heavily, being stalked by… someone. She didn't know who. She really hoped it wasn't Sabretooth. She sort of doubted it was, because he would have been easier to shake. 

Which worried her, because someone more tenacious than Sabretooth was… well, probably not a good sign for her continued life. Plus, she’d tried so hard to lose him that she’d _gotten_ lost, and she doubted Logan would be able to find her even after he took care of Sabretooth. 

She’d lost a lot of blood. She was pretty sure her hunter was still on her trail, but she could go no further. She found a large enough bush and crawled underneath it. She left a trail of blood. This was not a good hiding place. 

But she was very tired. 

She closed her eyes, and drifted into darkness. 

* * *

She hadn't been sure she'd open them again, but when she did, she wasn't alone. It took her a few moments to comprehend what she was seeing. Humanoid form, yes, okay but… what on God’s green earth… 

It was a man, for some strange definition of the word. That much she was certain of, for his chest was bare and proud, covered with a curly dusting of dark hair. In... northern Canada, practically a tundra. Probably--she wasn't quite sure what a tundra consisted of, other than having a vague mental image of snow and ice. Either way--not shirtless territory, not even for hirsute men. 

He wasn't _completely_ nude; he was wearing some utterly ludicrous vest that, after a moment of confused staring, she realized was styled after a lion in some fashion. The giant fluffy collar was intended to be evocative of a mane. It was a bit more evocative of the 80s, in her opinion. 

He was wearing _leopard print tights_. Or possibly just very tight pants. She wasn't going to investigate enough to find out. The entire thing, as a whole, was completely ridiculous in that unique way that let you know someone was almost certainly either a superhero or a supervillain. Some kind of super-. No one else would dress like that in public, for fear of being taken as one and getting punched by Iron Man. 

He was scowling, which was not necessarily a good sign, but not necessarily a bad one either. He had a knife long enough to probably be classified as a machete hanging from a thin leather sheath on his belt, but had not stabbed her with it yet. 

He let out a long, beleaguered sigh. "It seems someone has beat me here. How undignified." He squatted down, getting closer. Too close; she let out a low warning growl. She wasn't sure how much she could do in her condition, but she did not appreciate the strange man with the machete getting any closer. "Yes, well, I suppose it is little bit undignified for you too," the man admitted. He had a thick Russian accent, which didn't make anything about this situation less surreal. "Who could have broken you so badly, I wonder?" he mused. He reached out towards her, and she growled again, this time shifting away and snapping, struggling to stand on her three remaining good legs. For a certain definition of good. 

"Your force of will is admirable, friend, but your condition is deplorable. A stiff wind could knock you over, let alone myself." She growled again, and he sighed. "What to do? I come all this way to hunt the great beast that humiliated Sabretooth, and find it in such a state." Her growl doubled in volume. So this _was_ the person who’d been stalking her across the tundra. He'd gotten her _lost._ "I appreciate your passion, but there is more blood than snow under that bush now." 

He rested his arms on his knees, as if considering her. "You will bleed to death," he informed her, seemingly utterly unperturbed by the constant rumble of her growls. "It would be waste for such a beautiful beast." Oh, great, now he was calling her beautiful. She couldn't get that kind of compliment when she had _two_ legs, but give her four and apparently strange men were lining up to say she was pretty. He sighed one more time. "I suppose I have available only one course of action." 

Unless it was turning around and leaving her alone, she did not like where this was heading. She decided she'd done enough standing and growling. It clearly wasn't working. Steeling herself for impact, she launched herself at him, hoping to catch the man off guard enough to stun him and then make yet another break for it. 

Unfortunately, it would seem her "super" guess was correct. He leaned back and caught her around the middle of her body. She let out a screaming howl of agony as his grip tightened around what she was certain were broken ribs. In pain and desperately scared, she twisted despite the pain to bite into the back of his neck. Not something she would do under normal circumstances, particularly to someone whose toughness she did not know. She would regret it later. But as luck would have it, she wouldn't need to regret it as much as she might have as one hand released its grip around her to wrap into the fur on her head, yanking her head backwards away from his neck. He was strong; too strong. Normally, perhaps, she would be a match for him, but wounded as she was… 

"I appreciate your enthusiasm, but there really is no sport in it with you in this condition," he informed her. He hefted her off of him; her feet scrambled at the snow to attempt to make a run for it. "None of that, please," he said, ridiculously firm grip moving from her head to the back of her neck. "You are going to hurt yourself." _Hurt herself?_ It was a bit late for--

She saw something in his other hand. 

A gun. 

She yanked violently against his grip, then kicked off the ground and twisted as much as she could. It... it was a flail, more or less, but flailing was a pretty powerful move when you were a giant wolf. The man didn't let go, but fell over her with a startled huff. "Ah, to see you in your prime," he said with a grin that was, frankly, terrifying. It showed too many teeth for a person. He closed his legs around her, and she howled again with the pain this put on her ribs. His hand released her scruff, but only for the briefest of seconds before his whole forearm, his weight behind it, came down on her neck. "Now please, hold still." She did anything but, but his grip tightened no further, no more pressure came down on her neck. Instead, she heard the sound of a gun, not quite a bang, strange and quieter. Silenced? The pain she felt was more a stab than a gunshot wound, however. Had it been unable to pierce her hide? She could be quite tough. 

She continued to struggle, in vain though it seemed to be. 

"I should not be surprised that one was not enough," the man said with a huff of what might be amusement, and she heard the sound and felt the sensation again. She snarled and growled and snapped her fury. What was he _doing_? "I have more than enough here to take down a bull elephant," he informed her. "So as soon as you wish to stop struggling..." She aimed a kick between his legs. Not a very dog-like thing, and perhaps beneath her, but the grunt of pain and the wince she got was more than worth it. "Alright then..." 

Another shot. Another. It was clear, at this point, that he was drugging her. The world was becoming hazy, foggy. Thick. She snapped at him again, through molasses and fog. 

"Shhhhh," his voice came from miles away, out of sync with his lips. "We’ll fix you up, _schenoka_." 

* * *

She didn't fall fully unconscious, not really. She drifted through hazy waters, vaguely aware of being carried over the man's shoulder, limp, like a dead thing. She didn't seem to be able to move. An indeterminate amount of time later, a vehicle... a van, of some sort. She could swear there was a mural on the side. She had to be hallucinating that. 

The door opened, and the darkness of the interior made her feel as if she was sinking into the depths of the ocean as she was carried inside, and the door slid shut behind them. 

She was set down, on something... something soft. She laid her head across it listlessly, no strength to move, body utterly limp. She didn't sleep, though she thought she might have liked to, lazy eyes attempting to stay on the man as he slid in and out of focus. 

"I will try to preserve as much of your beautiful fur as possible," he informed her, which was worrying for many, many reasons. Was he intending to **skin** her?! He paused, seeming to consider her. "...I suppose I should start with security, given how many tranquilizers it took to get here. I suspect you are type that... bites hand that feeds, yes? And then tries to keep." She didn't have the strength to scowl, or the face for it, but she was scowling on the inside. She did not _bite people’s hands off._ She was a perfectly... okay, she was a _decently_ nice person. She tried to be. It wasn't her fault if he was trying to murder/kidnap/skin her. 

Her niceness was ultimately unimportant at the moment, however, since she was so drugged--with tranquilizers, possibly elephant tranquilizers from what he'd said before--that she couldn't even move. She could move her eyes. That was about it. Even her head seemed outside of her control at the moment. She couldn't honestly even experience fear properly--she was distantly aware she should definitely be full of intense mortal terror, but couldn't quite actually get her emotions there. She floated in vague, detached alarm as the man produced something... something. Leather and metal and strappy. She had no idea what it was. 

"Do you like?" he asked, as if she could respond or even form proper opinions. She was a wolf, she wanted to remind him, and wolves did not generally have opinions on strange leather objects, even when not drugged stupid. "I invented it myself. Much more useful than choke chain or muzzle, and as bonus, is both!" He sounded quite cheerful about this. He leaned over her to begin the process of putting it on, sliding some leather loop around her muzzle, then she could sort of feel something buckling around her neck. There was a jerk, and the leather around her muzzle jerked tight, snapping her mouth shut. "Testing!" he said, with the cadence of an apology. 

Then he backed up, and pulled out a huge, thick metal chain. He attached one end to the collar, and the other to a hook on one corner of what passed for a bed frame in this weird... living... van. Oh sweet merciful Christ, this was a man who lived in his van. She had heard about these. The fact that she could see multiple such hooks around his bed did absolutely nothing to dissuade her that everything she had ever heard about men who lived in vans was absolutely true. 

She had been kidnapped… er, wolfnapped… by a strange hairy shirtless Russian who **LIVED IN A VAN** and had **HOOKS AROUND HIS BED** and chains and leather bondage equipment just! Lying around! Oh God! This really was the end! She was going to be skinned by some Russian pervert, and even if she could transform back without dying from her grievous wounds, Lord only knew that would be even worse! 

What a humiliating way to die, all things considered. 

"Alright," said the man, who was continuing his trend of being as uncomfortably, terrifyingly on brand as possible by pulling on gloves. He'd pulled them out to a large box, from which he also pulled out some sort of white bundle. She suspected it contained knives. Rahne pinched her eyes shut and tried to form some last-minute prayers, not wanting to see the implements of her upcoming demise. 

She could feel him moving closer, displacing air, could hear him. Kneeling down. Leaning closer. She didn't even have the strength to whimper thanks to the tranquilizers. She felt hands on her side, and couldn't even flinch. 

She hoped it would be quick. 

She could sort of feel her fur being pushed the wrong way, unpleasant but little more. Then something cold. Wet. OW BURNING OW OW OW. Then the stinging smell of hydrogen peroxide hit her nose. 

What in Sam's hill. 

She managed to open one eye, slowly, cautiously, even without factoring in all the drugs. It didn't help very much, because she still couldn't really move her head. The man was kneeling by the bed, doing something to her midsection that felt suspiciously like cleaning her injuries. Before she could piece together the meaning of this, she heard a sudden loud buzzing. She let out a very, very faint wuff of protest as something vibratey that she immediately recognized as an electric razor began running over her side. 

One didn't have as much hair as her and still want to wear skirts in polite company without developing a significant affinity for razors of all kinds. 

Slowly, very slowly, she began piecing things together. She was--most likely--not being murdered in the most peculiar way possible. The man worked mostly in silence, occasionally muttering to himself in what she could only assume was Russian, though she didn't know a word of it. He stood up briefly, and walked a few steps to a cupboard, from which he pulled out a white box with the classic red cross on it. 

Yeah. She was getting emergency medical care from a half-naked Russian man in the back of a van. Alright. 

She was probably going to get a _really_ gross infection, but she supposed it was tentatively better than bleeding out in the snow in the middle of Somewhere, Canada. 

She winced at the prick of a needle as he began stitching up some of the worst gashes Sabretooth had left in her side. It didn't hurt as much as it surely would if she hadn't been sedated, but it was still extremely unpleasant, particularly to think about. She was suddenly very glad her range of vision was limited to staring blankly across the back of his van. At least she didn't have to _see_ what he was doing. It was bad enough kind of feeling it. Instead she lay there, silently--not that she had any choice in the matter--wondering what the fuck her life had become, all of a sudden.

**Author's Note:**

> The "?" is after the "to be continued" because while the commissioner has suggested at a determination to keep paying me to do more, I can hardly guarantee that. If you find you'd like to not leave the continuation up to their whim, please check me out on social media like Tumblr or Twitter (ElvenSemi on both).


End file.
